Drink with a Serial Killer
by lightninginmyeyes
Summary: Bamon AH. One-shot. Gifted to Flo (thefudge is grumpy) for Bamily Secret Santa. Prompt: Serial Killer AU. Anti-Elena/Stelena


**For:** Flo (thefudge is grumpy); second year in a row and going strong lol

 **Prompt:** Serial Killer AU

* * *

Sloppy, oh God, he'd been so _sloppy_. He hits a vase, and it shatters across his vintage dining table, over the wedding invitation of navy and gold. _You are cordially invited to the wedding of Stefan Salvatore and Elena Gilbert_.

She'd been _his_. First row of the lecture hall, doe-eyed, chin nestled in her palm, cute smile, rapt notes. She thoughtfully absorbed every word from his mouth. Meetings during office hours, meetings not during office hours. Pillow talk of The Devil in Love and Wuthering Heights. Her favorite was- _is_ Edgar Allen Poe. She'd listen to him for hours, worshipping him. And, oh, how he worshipped her back. Relentlessly. Their love was all-consuming, _epic_ —he could write volumes.

But there was Stefan, the med student she'd shadowed at the hospital during her oncology rotations, the gentleman who paid for her lunches, the guy who made her smile after a tough day in ICU… and the younger brother she never knew he had.

She quickly learned who was the better Salvatore.

His first was in Maryland. She had beautiful brown silk hair and glossy brown eyes. A smile that melted his heart. Did he love her? Of course not. Did he murmur it in her ear whenever they shared his bed anyway? Absolutely. When her doubts fell out of her mouth, his hands found her fragile throat.

 _No one else can have you_.

Every state, every move, he'd always find The One. Every "One" he'd find, she'd disappoint him. And with every disappointment, he'd perfect his method. Really made it his own. An X over the heart, the love cut from his heart, and a crow's feather, a cheap imitation of a raven.

But he'd never killed a student from a school he's taught. Except for this last one. She wasn't even his type. She was a little too loud, her hair an unnatural, dyed brown… but he'd been desperate. No, he'd been _impatient_ , the desire devoured him.

Now, the police are on campus. While he should be scared, he is just agitated. He isn't afraid to get his hands dirty, after all, but the whole thing is exhausting. He'd followed the female detective to Skull Bar.

He'll take care of this.

* * *

Bonnie takes a sip of her coffee and digs the heels of her palms into her eyes. She's run her luck into the frozen ground tonight. Students didn't know anything, professors didn't know anything, librarians didn't know anything, and Skull Bar employees didn't either. The FBI is taking the case tomorrow. She hopes Tyler is making more progress. She should call him.

"Tough night, Detective?"

Her bleary vision sharpens around an immaculate man. He sits next to her and sets his folded leather jacket on the bar. It's the middle of December, and he wears a t-shirt. Her skin crawls with gooseflesh under her own fleece-lined jacket.

"Do I know you…?" He cracks a small smile. She blurts, "Wait, you're one of the professors, right?"

"Sharp memory, Detective," he compliments. "Not just a beautiful woman."

"Wow, okay." Her eyebrows arch as she takes a drink of coffee. "I, uh—"

His barked laugh interrupts her. "I'm only joking. You are beautiful, definitely," he isn't subtle about checking her out, "but I'm not hitting on you."

"Then, what are you doing?"

"Appreciating the view."

"Smooth." She rolls her eyes. "I've had enough undergrads try their best." She shoots him a look. "If I hear another 'hey girl let me buy you a drink', I'm arresting them."

"Then, can I interest you in a beverage?" His crystalline eyes twinkle mischievously. Her mouth betrays her with a smile.

"I'm on the clock," she taps her badge on her belt.

"Let me just tempt you, then."

He signals the barista, and she notices black ink on his inner bicep, but it's gone before she recognizes the shape. The young man behind the bar discreetly pours liquor into two espresso cups.

"You know, I'm still a cop. Alcohol isn't supposed to be sold on campus," Bonnie says as the young barista walks away.

"It's just a… _really_ strong espresso." He takes a cautious sip. "I'll be buzzing in a moment."

"You mean, buzzed," she teases with narrowed eyes. He narrows his back with a smile. "What kind of alcohol is it?"

"Only bourbon for me," he says.

"Mystery Man likes Bourbon," her hand sweeps across an invisible headline. "I can see it."

His amused smile settles into something soft and charming. "I'm Damon Salvatore."

"Bonnie Bennett." She narrows her eyes for a moment. "You're a literature professor, right?"

"Yes," he says slowly, "but why do I feel like you're not interested in Gothic Fiction? Wait." His eyes search hers. "Was that young woman in _my_ class?"

Heather Bell had been found in her apartment off campus, in her bathtub. An X carved over her heart, but the cause of death was asphyxiation. Long brown hair, big brown eyes, athletic build—and a single crow feather floating in the water—all features of four other murders in the past three years.

"Heather Bell," her spine straightens as she assumes her professional role. "She was a cheerleader. She was a top student. Are you sure—"

"I teach three classes, between thirty to fifty—"

She pulls out the photograph. Pom-poms, uniform, and hair pulled away from a beaming face. Bonnie studies Damon's face basking in the presence of a dead girl. It is blank, deliberately passive. A gloss of dark nothingness.

"Nothing about her stands out, sorry." He takes a quick drink, "Not to speak ill of the dead, but she's pretty generic."

"You're right," Bonnie recedes. His response settles in her gut like water on oil. If there is anything Bonnie can trust, it's her gut. Even Tyler concedes. Speaking of, maybe she could text him secretly…

"The papers say the FBI is getting involved because there's talk about," his voice drops, "a serial killer…?"

The way he says the label is supposed to be a scandalized taboo, but his mouth forms it with reverence. Her stomach churns.

"It's confidential."

"You're no fun. Surely there are _some_ juicy deets you can spill." He lays the "college lingo" pretty thick for comedic effect, but his eyes cut into her face.

"The papers talk about it," she allows. "College girls that look roughly the same with basically the same lifestyles—all kind of athletic, all kinda girly. You know."

He hums and takes another drink. He appears thoughtful, but his reaction is… off. When he raises his cup for another, she sees the ink again. Black feathers. Her heart is in her throat. Could he be…? The killer's profile _does_ call for narcissism and control. Before she can say anything, a student pops up. Blonde hair, blue eyes, too bubbly for the setting.

"Professor Salvatore, hi!" she croons. Her red smile is too big to gift a professor.

"Ms. Forbes," Bonnie notes his slightly clenched jaw, "Strange to see you twice in one day."

"I swear I'm not stalking you!" Bonnie doesn't want to know. "But since I have you here…" She pulls a jacketed document from her purse. Bonnie switches to Damon's clear irritation.

"Ms. Forbes, I—"

"If you could please review this," she nearly begs. "I really want to submit it for—"

"Caroline." The atmosphere chills dramatically as he turns to her fully. "Clearly, this is not the time or place for this discussion." He gestures to Bonnie. "I'm not here in a professional capacity, so if you want to meet academically, we can during my office hours."

"But you _never_ —"

"Goodbye, Caroline." He turns his back, a warped apology in his eyes, and he runs his fingers through his hair. Bonnie's attention is back on the feathers on his arm.

"You must be popular with the students." She finally picks up the espresso cup. "You know, the young, attractive professor who all the guys wanted to learn from and all the girls can't stay away from."

"You think I'm attractive." He clinks their ceramic cups together.

"I'm not blind, Professor." Her answer, plus her best starry-eyed look, seems to placate him. He's already ordering another drink, so she takes the opportunity to ask, "What's your tattoo of?"

Caught off guard, he studies her a moment before pulling his collar aside. It's a large black bird over his left pectoral, and feathers falling off it in different directions.

"Wow, that's some real Edgar Allen Poe shit." She covers her mouth at the curse word, and he's nearly charmed by her embarrassment… if he isn't suspicious of her.

"It was supposed to be, but the artist botched it." He points to the beak. "Ravens have curved beaks, but their lesser brother, the crow, has a pointed one."

"Couldn't you get it fixed?"

"Crows are just as ominous," he shrugs, but she hears the bitterness. "It's really a common error."

Her cell phone vibrates in her pocket. She holds a finger up for Damon's sake. It's Tyler. She knows without looking because she tried typing him a message in her pocket, but she knows it couldn't have been anything good or coherent.

"That was an SOS text, wasn't it?" is his opening line.

"Sure," she says easily. "Got anything good?"

"Where are you, Bennett?"

"What do you mean? I'm at the Skull Bar, like _you_ said I should." Bonnie throws Damon an apologetic look, just as phony as his earlier.

"I can be there in fifteen minutes. Are you safe?"

"Not sure," she replies casually. "I can look into it."

"Okay, Bon, be careful. I'll be there as soon as I can," Tyler promises. He always delivers on his promises to her. They have a mutual trust she can depend on.

"Okay, I'll meet you there." She hangs up, producing the best apologetic look she can for Damon. "I think my partner has a lead. I ought to go."

"But I just ordered another drink." On cue, the barista comes over. "You should probably just retire the badge for the night."

She doesn't know if it's his eyes and his smile, but Bonnie's mind is screaming. _This is him, this is the killer!_ Call it intuitive or a premonition, but her gut feelings never lie.

"Like you said, there's a killer on the loose." She's not sure if her stare is too pointed because a tight smile dons his beautiful mouth.

"You're right." He takes her second drink and throws it back too. He stands and shrugs on his jacket. She's panicking. "Then, _I'll_ just retire for the evening. It was a pleasure meeting you, despite the circumstances."

"Uh, could you walk me to the Public Safety office?" she blurts and gets on her feet. And his smile widens. Dangerously. _Shit._

"You have a gun and, you know, the authority to use it." He leans in close, the bourbon on his breath mixing with hers. Her heart slams against her chest—can he hear it—not just because he's gorgeous but because he's intrigued by her, and—has she just make herself a target? "Unless you have a reason to keep me here? Do you have grounds to arrest me?"

She wants to scream. Her blood is boiling. Of course she doesn't! So he's a little creepy with a crow tattoo. She wouldn't know anything for sure without reviewing his file and doing a background check on him. But, by then, he'll be gone, she knows it.

"Arrest you? Is that a joke to get you in handcuffs?" Her tone, however, is flat. Her eyes are burning. "If you remember anything…" She reaches into her jacket pocket for a pen. Without taking her eyes off him, she blindly captures his hand and scribbles her number on the back. "Contact me. Maybe we can do drinks again, sometime."

* * *

He hasn't cleaned the broken glass off the table. He pushes it aside and sits down with his little red book. He had carved a crow onto it. He outlines a curved beak with his pen. He writes one sentence before throwing the book across the room.

 _Bonnie Bennett must go._

* * *

 **Aaaaaand that's it, I tried my total best. I hope you enjoyed it. Quick shoutout to Elana (** Coraxes **here,** thiefofeddis **on Tumblr) for giving this a read for me.**

 **Anyways, happy holidays and thanks for always accepting my closeted trash ways!**


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